Page 107 of Citius

There was no rush. He needed time, and I was acutely aware I’d just upended his entire life.

After several minutes, Wyatt finally sat up, ran a hand through his mussed hair, then tightly crossed his arms. I wasn’t sure whether it was an attempt at self-soothing or to ward against more uncomfortable truths.

“So… Now what?”

“While your case isn’t as cut and dry as we’d hoped, it’s early. It’s treatable. And I will tackle this with you every step of the way.”

“I don’t want her to suffer.” The threats in his red-rimmed eyes were anything but silent. “And just so we’re clear—I’m serious about her.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” I leaned against the side of the table and bent down until our eyes were level. Unleashing just enough dominance to leave him no choice but to take me seriously, I said, “I care about you. Not just because you’re my patient or my friend’s brother. You’re important to Morgan and keeping you around is essential to her long-term happiness. So, let’s work together. To get you healthy. And secure a future with her.” I extended my hand. “Agreed?”

Wyatt’s gaze flicked between my hand and face, an internal battle playing out across his features. The ingrained Redmond instinct to actagainst their best interests was strong, but his desire for Morgan was stronger.

Good sense won out in the end—even though his grip was half-hearted, at best. “I’ll try.”

***

Joaquin’s favorite dive bar was perched precariously on the edge of the old fisherman’s wharf upriver, a ramshackle time capsule where neon signs jostled for elbow room with mounted fish. The residue of stale beer and a thousand bad decisions coated the walls.

My friend leaned back in the booth, one arm draped across the cracked leather, his beer held casually in the other hand.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Joaquin mused with a menacing smirk between sips of beer. “Really fucking lucky.”

He’d supposedly invited me out for drinks to clear the air, but rather than extending an olive branch, he’d been beating me with a verbal switch for half an hour. Granted, I deserved some righteous indignation for my secrecy regarding Morgan—but only a little. Not this relentless, ham-fisted bludgeoning.

“Look, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Morgan was so enmeshed with your pack.” I flagged down our server, ordering another round of drinks and a second basket of fried calamari, the best thing on the menu, hands down. “Genuinely thought Wyatt was the only one I had to worry about.”

“Well, that explains it.” He leaned across the table, half-snarling, lips peeled back to reveal his sharp white teeth. “You think we’re competition. That Alijah and I will get in your way.”

I fought the urge to evade his scrutiny, refusing to cede ground.

“Competition?” I kept my voice steady, shaking my head. “No—that’s not what I think. At all.”

Ignoring the feral edge to his gaze, I addressed what he was most concerned about—his mate.

“I knew Alijah was sweet on her but thought it was more of a workplace crush. If I’d known he—no, both of you—were interested in dating her, we’d have had this talk much sooner.”

“That’s why you didn’t say anything?” His beer hit the chipped tabletop with more force than necessary, drawing more than one eye in our direction. “Not buying it. You’re not a fucking Redmond, you knowhow to pick up a phone and say, ‘Hey, guess what, I’ve got it bad for the hot omega doctor.’ Don’t you,Charles?”

“Phones work both ways,” I said carefully, then drained the last of my beer, the bottle clinking hollowly as I set it down. “Besides, there was nothing to say. She turned me down. Twice. We’re not together. And I can’t complain about it.” I toyed with the damp cardboard coaster. “Because it’s not my career that would suffer if we got found out. The university wouldn’t touch me because I’m a Carling, and their link to Redwing.”

Exhaling deeply, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the sticky table, and spelled everything out for Joaquin. “Wyatt also has ties to Redwing—plus he’s an alpha. They wouldn’t do more than slap him on the wrist. Alijah would probably get shuffled to a different department. But Morgan—”

“Ugh.” Joaquin tipped his head against the back of the booth. “You’re starting to sound like Owen.”

“Oh?” I blinked at him in genuine surprise. “How so?”

“Asked for permission to court her.” He methodically cracked his knuckles one by one. “Said no, obviously, even though I did get him to admit she’s pretty much his perfect woman. But yeah, said if any of us made a move before her fellowship ends, she’d be out on her ass.”

“More or less,” I said, nodding in agreement as I dug a nail into the side of the coaster, peeling off the sodden top layer to obscure the bar’s logo. “They wouldn’t terminate her fellowship, but they’d definitely find a dark, quiet basement office somewhere—far away from all of us—where she’d do nothing more than copyThe Ladylike Omega’s Guide to Grace and Etiquetteuntil the end of July.”

“Bullshit,” Joaquin spat, his disgust evident. “I mean the book title, not that they wouldn’t do it.”

“Oh, it’s totally real.” As the server returned with our drinks, I pulled out my phone, did a quick search, and turned the screen to him, revealing a prissy pink cover adorned with lace detailing. “My sisters read it to me when I was a kid.”

Morgan had pegged me correctly. I was the lone baby boy after four girls, three of whom were omegas. But unlike Heather, my other omega half-sisters weren't biologically related to Chaz. They also had the good sense to mate well and put our family behind them.

Joaquin sneered at the screen. “Thank fuck, my family never had the money to torture my sisters the way yours did.” He returned my phone with a dismissive flick, the sarcasm in his voice biting, and reached for his fresh beer. “And Chaz wonders why they’ve all gone low contact,even though he treats the one daughter desperate for his approval like trash.”

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